Whimsy, satire, irreverent humor, and hijinx from a place not so far away

Simpli-tax, the series

Simpli-Tax part 1.

The rookie CPA was tenseNe’er spoke to crowd so hugeOf fellow standers on the fence“Don’t want to seem the stooge.”The Bean-filled Vegas hall got hushAs Smelford took the stageA stumble from his anxious rushThat wrinkled his front page. Good morning, fellow Green-shade toads Let’s talk ’bout: News in Tax This squawk of simplifying codes Needs our collective whacks. Our paws and grampaws worked so hard To gin this convolution Spent years and years on mounds of lard To ensure mass confusion. Let’s not let their fine work be squashed To some dumb 1-page form Our fine profession won’t be washed- Out with this half quaked storm.“Rah, rah, rah” Bean-arazzi shouts“We’ll help you fight this fight.We’ll kill this weed before it sproutsInto some tax-less blight.”Part 2.My father told me, years agoHow simple taxes wereForms could be filled by Average JoeWithout eyes going blur.No blur? No fog? No walk in mist?No smell of stale cigar?No raging screams of uber-pissed?It all seems too bizarre.Deductions: would just add them upJust add them! ‘Magine this?!?No worksheets someone spat ’em upHow rudimentary, this.No hundred-page instruction booksTo fill one measley lineNo hidden tricks for profs and cooksOr hooks for shnooks who dine?Those old rules weren’t ambiguousT’was just too black and whiteSo easy…was ridiculousCould whip out in one night (what fright!)Oh my, it almost took us downDestroying our professionBut luckily, dads went to townWhen Congress was in session.And turned that black and white to grayYay! Loopholes few would knowPenned verbage full of may not/mayAnd yes…they made it slow.So slow, old Joe now took a weekTo get dern taxes doneBy Day 3, Joe would mega-freakHis bowels would start to run.Came running to we CPA’sJust after change of trouWe’d vault him from his tax-freak dazeAnd halt his birth of cow (oh, wow!)Part 3.Incumbent on us…at this pointTo not let fore-dads downNot let their Master-work disjointTo sheets which wipe fresh brown.In fact, must add complexityTo baffle Compu-TaxNeed ramp-up tax perplexityDisguise our hidden cracks.That only we, the tax gurusCan pilot through the channelWithout fear that IRS screwsWill call for some empanel.May ask the Congress to approveMake tax forms just in LatinDump English, time to make the moveProvide less taxin’ chattin’.Keep amateurs out of our BizThat give those ornery discountsThat call themselves the New Tax WizThen drizzle out their miscounts.New Licensing is what we wantWith standards set by usTranscribed into the smallest fontBy some old fart named Gus.With tests and hoops and loop-de-loopsThat help us to decideWho gets to join our esteemed groupsAnd whose hide’s getting fried.Yeah, licensing would add that wallMight cause a wee-bit splatterBut, hey, some win, some take the fallCuz we need to get fatter.Part 4.They felt rush of adrenalineFrom deep beneath their moundsSome tummies were not settlin’Strange symphony of sounds.But now prepared to make a marchParade of wing-tip glossPacked suits and ties, shirts laced in starchStashed extra rolls of floss.With briefcase full of extra padsAnd Cross pens freshly filledAnd U’s to shield their lasses, ladsIn case some stuff gets spilled.They headed for the Power HubWith Smelford at the wheelWith hopes to get into the tubTo play: Let’s Make a Deal.Played crazy bean games, state-to-stateLike count the 2-toned carsAdd numbers from their license platesDivide by sleazy bars.Count passers-by whose pants are flaredTimes children filling gulletsThen add the Herrs with no hair, squaredSubtract the count of mullets.The winner is the one who getsA number close to Pi.It’s “Bean Fun” to alleve the fretsDon’t bother asking why.Part 5.Smelf parked the bus at Spud’s motelGood spot for buds on budgetThe inn-keep did not look to wellHis butt…could barely budge it.A quick night stay at half-way pointIn Who Knows, PennsylvaniaIn some inept decrepid jointThat’s certain not to drain ya’They packed a bus load in one roomPacked in eight roll-awaysThe room smelled of a toxic fumeA fog of bean soup haze.They’d stopped and dined at Burger Fred’sHad ordered Double CheeseBut later, when they’d fumed the bedsBrought roaches to their knees.Quick game before all went to bed:Count brown splotts in the rugsTook more time counting in the HeadWhere splotts had killed more bugs.Next morning…bus back on the trackNext stop would be DCBut then they heard the clickitty clackOh my…what could that be?Part 6.“The right rear bearing,” Elmer said“Yer bearing there is shot.Can go get one from Burger FredLet’s go see what he’s got. “What? Burger Fred? The gaseous king? Give me a side of pube? Sells car parts, as some sidebar thing? Know where he gets his lube.”“Yeah Fred is one ‘dem Aunt Pee-noors.He’s in all kinda stuff.Picks up our garbage, cleans our sewersI go to him for snuff.I think ole Fred will fix you upGots bearings on the shelf.He keeps them in a soda cup…I’ve pulled some out myself.”Sure ’nuff, Fred had the bearing thereRight next to bags of bunsWas dusted with some old cat hairNot spared the squiggly ones.The bearing changed…back on the roadAnd paying freeway tollsTo sounds of Clem, the human toadAnd counting telephone poles.Part 7.“We’re here! We’re here!” the bean-bags cheer“We made it to the MountIt’s like your car is free and clearSo joyed, I can’t e’en count.”Smelf quickly seeks the Lobby firmTo drive this new crusadeA firm called Shadey, Shlock & SquirmWould earn what they’ve been paid.Their office, in some rundown houseDown around DuPont CircleA smell of beer, a touch of louseWere greeted by DeFerkle. “We hear you want to fight this bill To simplify the tax We heard you guys got pretty shrill Your grouse-meter pegged max.” “That’s why our busload came to you The Champs of the Perplex… Creators of the Tax Code goo Tax muscles set to flex. “We’re desperate. We need to kill This move to make tax easy Please guide us to help kill this bill If needed, please get sleazy.” “We hear you. But if truth be told… And thank you guys for stopping… On this one, we will have to fold You’ll need to go re-shopping.”Part 8. You what? You guys are baling out? You just aren’t making sense What wimp cards are you mailing out To all your new ex-friends? Our guys here want things simplified When they do their own tax They’re tired of getting limpified When pawing through tax stacks. They got to you! The other side! Gave you a better deal Have you lost all your Tax Chef pride Just when we need a meal? Think back to your long history Of building tax confusion The weaves and bends of mystery And layered tax illusion. We worked together like a team We shared a-many beer Created every tax fright scheme Our dream of tax code fear. Now this? To leave us in the lurch Just when we need you most? Force us to do some dag-blame search Just so you dweebs can coast? We’ve realized the harm we’ve done We’ve got some new religion Now need to get the spins unspun Raise our respect a smidgen.Part 9. I’m sorry. But that’s not our Bag Do I smell rotten core? A bag that almost makes us gag May we show you the door?The 12th rejection just this week…Seems no one wants this fightA bar room fight of pungent wreakTo fight for what’s not right.But finally, the 13th tryA firm with sub-floor standardsWho’ll do whatever cash will buyOblivious to slanders.So happy just to take the caseTheir case load had got thinAbout to be thrown from their spaceTheir bank rolls had lost skin. Come in. Come in. Please have a seat. That Simpli-tax? Plain wrong! Will only serve up to deplete Our fine Accounting throng You really need to plant a seed To throw computers off. A virus…yeah, that’s what we need Give Comput-tax a cough.So CPA’s then inked the dealWith Stunkfunk Lobby IncThe deal – it had a queasy feelThe ink brand seemed to stink.Part 10. The Stunkfunk team went right to workOn several lobby frontsThey planned to pull out every quirkIn their rich trunk of stunts.Decided first to start-off smallGet rumors on the streetMisinformation set to crawlTo keep the shell game neat.Met with key staffers. Took to lunch: “D’ja see the new report? That Simpli-tax will maxi-crunch Cause revenue distort. Yeah, previous analyses Were static in their calcs Assumptions used were falacies Developed by their ‘pals’. The new Code will cause major shift In what folks say they earn Will watch the skidding, downward drift As business starts to churn. Would no doubt cause a small revolt A cold path sure to haunt The global guys may choose to boltThat’s sure not what we want. Best keep the old Code we’ve got now It’s a known quantity All know what is/is not allowed Know every oddity.”The Stunkfunk lob-sters were a tripDished out 2 tons of doodleConsistency of nasal dripAnd smell of liver strudle.Part 11.The News Release read: Simpli-TaxIs found to be a fraud.Its rationale found full of cracks,Its Mathematics flawed!So says McBoob, the PresidentOf Econ Masters Group.“This bill would be a detriment…Create new lines for soup.”“Its guise of being simplifiedIs just more smoke and mirrors.Your prep work will be blimp-ifiedBest stock up now on beers.“And in the end, when revs fall shortThere’ll be a tax addendumJust ‘temporary’, they’ll reportSend dollars and they’ll spend ’em.”This breaking news comes on the heelsOf Push for Tax ReformFrom pundits in their spiffed-up spiels,Chock full of fact de-form.McBoob advises: “Kill this now.Before folks grab false hope.Please nuke this undigested chowCan someone get a rope?”Part 12.The letter-writing campaign startsWith notes from guys named JonesTen thousand Jones notes tug at heartsTen thousand tax bite moans.To News rooms for their Op Ed pageTo Congresswomen typesTo loudmouths from the screen and stageWho seek to find new gripes.The Jones blitz had a blanket reachTo even late night newsIt found its way to News Talk screechAnd dudes who teach the Blues.They’d interview a Jones or twoWho’d rail ‘gainst Simpli-TaxWho’d grouch until his head turned blueOr BP popped to max.The talking heads were stumped by thisThought Simpli-Tax was coolCould fill out forms while taking pissOr resting on the stool.Now all this outrage…what was missed?Had seemed like one slam dunk.This caged-up rage adds such a twistThe slam dunk just went clunk.Part 13.The Stunkfunk spunky compu-geeksDevised a sleek new virusIt only took them 2-3 weeksCalled their new virus: TyrusWould complicate the Compu-taxThrow user on some tangentThey’d infiltrate with clever hacksWas simpler than imagined.You’d enter on Line 23Would show on 28Negate the 28 and seeWould wipe out your Line 8.The program would erase your nameSub some obscenityFrom random obscene naming game…A hack amenity. Forced you to fill out some fake formThat made no freaking senseLooked just like an official formThat also made no sense.Then added ’bout a thousand bucksTo how much tax you owed.And then it told you: “Man, this sucks!Seems your grass just got mowed.”The Stunkfunk gang all had a laughThey almost blew a geyserHad turned this into Compu-Gaffe…Best stick with your Advisor.Part 14.Meanwhile Stunkfunk’s crack econ teamWas ginning up new “facts”For “Facts sheets” spun to fit their schemeWith dreamed-up tax impacts.Made up fresh numbers as they wentDrew graphs that had no basisMade statements – who knows what they meantThen closed with smiley faces.Baked pie charts in a flaky crustFruit flavors of all kindBut crust would bust and turn to dustAnd filling’d taste like rind.Weaved quasi-nalysis to ‘splainConclusions that they wantCould convolute a wiz-kid brainDeciphering this gaunt.Showed middle class will pay much moreThe rich guys pay much lessLow-end pay less than less before…Who’s wanting all this mess?That 19 percent rate they claimBett’r add 5 more percentThen 3 more, rolling out their gameCuz that dough’s all been spent.They’d accept all this bilge as trueHad Rex McBoob’s initialReport’s crisp letterhead was blueIt all looked quite official.Part 15.Had town hall meetings, where they’s claimThe Simp-Tax was a plotBy Ultra-rich…and names they’d nameLike Shlumpp, Bill Shmates, and Shmott. Oh yes…these barons will all say They just want things more fair But they know how much less they’ll pay… ‘Nuff to redo their hair. And screw the working middle class The plumbers and the cops The ones who don’t spend time on ass Who’ve farmed this country’s crops It’s all one big conspiracy Wrapped up in slick disguise Be careful of their heresy Their twists, their spins, their lies.Was beautiful…this tale they weavedLike some fine work of artCould get the town folk so darn peeved‘Fore they left for Wal MartSome fell asleep in rows in backWorn out from piled-on hypeWiped out from gripes from some new quackWith smell that’s much too ripe.Fatigue of Change: was all a plusA factor they’d forgotFolks just pooped-out of fuss and mussWhose energies were shot.Who just want to turn on the tubeAt ends of busy daysDon’t want to hear a ranting rubeWho sets his pants a-blaze.Part 16.The Vegas bunch were feeling pumpedWere sensing shift of tideFelt backbones get untied, unslumpedThe backseat boys just cried: “I can’t believe my weary eyes… Tax may stay pains in butt! So we can keep our mesmerize Keep filers in their rut.”They all went out to celebrateWith shots of discount rumNext morning, not sure what they ateBut sure they’d gotten dumb.Recalled that Norfberg did a danceRight up there on the barAn Irish jig, in rum-laced tranceWhile smoking rank cigar.And sang a song, “Oh Give me TaxJust like my daddy did.”No one there ever heard those tracks‘Cept some old fart named Sid.They hugged and sang ’bout quaint tax thingsWhile patrons all looked puzzledAt some point, they had ’nuff tax singsSaid: these guys should be muzzled.Part 17.The polls they took would say it allThe Simp-Tax trend had droopedFave numbers, each week , took a fallSome stuff was needing scooped.Jones letters kept on flowing inGot Jones inside their bonesSo much Jones that their heads would spinAnd rattle much loose stones.They’d lobbied every interest groupPressed hard convincing banksThat they’d all need to clean the coupGet used to hitting shanks.Pushed hard on every charityStressed contribs would dry upFundraisers: be a rarityBring back your begging cup.Bye bye to 401K plansThat well will soon go dryBest sell before stuff hits them fansAnd PUTS hit all new highs.The only fear that Stunkfunk fearedWas lack of fear itselfWere careful not to get too weirdUsed mostly fears on shelf.Part 18.The final step in Stunk’s grand planThe last nail in the coffinA plan to get a target clanWhom they would need to soften.The CPA firms ‘cross the landHad held hands and agreedTo give this group a helping handA group that’s so in need.They’d offered every congressmanAnd congresswoman, tooA break for all the “good they’ve done”That’s helped, well, who knows whoA 90 percent reductionIn personal tax serviceAn earmarked target deductionThat made no tax guy nervous.A mini-pay-off…some might say?But they’d just say: a perq.For all their services, night and dayThat, some might claim, is work.But would this be enough to swingEnough to drown this float?Who knows? But let’s see if they bringThe Simpli-Tax to vote.The End.